


Fahrenheit 1100

by FrenchRoast



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate, Supernatural, Warehouse 13
Genre: Community: multifan_gift, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 18:12:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchRoast/pseuds/FrenchRoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When people start dying mysterious flame-filled deaths, Sam and Dean investigate...and quickly run into a second pair of Agents trying to solve the case, too. Set in the midst of season 8 of Supernatural, and mid-way through season 4 of Warehouse 13.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fahrenheit 1100

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vexed_Wench](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vexed_Wench/gifts).



  
**Fahrenheit 1100**

_“It was a pleasure to burn.”  
Fahrenheit 451_  


“Mrs. Berenson, did you see or feel anything that seemed strange before you went upstairs to bed?” Dean asked, surveying the living room yet again. The scene was bizarre, even for him.

“What do you mean by strange?” 

“Lights flashing, cold spots, odd noises, anything out of the ordinary.”

She thought for a moment. Her brunette hair was mussed in just the right way, Dean noticed. Not too messy, just loose enough. Before he could notice anything else about her, Sam bounded down the stairs. He gave Dean the all-clear signal just as Mrs. Berenson spoke up again.

“I can’t think of anything. Agent Montag, Agent McClellan , I don’t know what to tell you that I haven’t already gone over with the police and the fire department a dozen times. Jake was watching TV there in his chair, I went upstairs because I had an early shift at the vet clinic, and when I came down yesterday morning, I saw…I saw what you can see right there,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes as she pointed towards the burnt remains of what used to be a very nice La-Z-Boy. 

Sam looked at the spot immediately in front of the chair. It was burn free, as was the rest of the house. Everything was contained to the La-Z-Boy.

“I hate to ask this, but…was there any part of your husband left behind?”

She nodded. “His feet. There was nothing left but his feet. The coroner took those.”

“We’re going to do our best to find out what happened to him, Mrs. Berenson,” Sam assured her. “Thank you for your time.”

“Let us know if you think of anything else,” Dean said. “We’ll be on our way now.”

As they left the house, Dean shook his head. “That is some messed up crap, Sam. Guy’s watching TV and somehow burns into nothing? She said he didn’t even smoke.”

“Maybe he was hiding it from her?” Sam shrugged. He opened the door to the Impala and slid into the seat.

“Even if he was, a cigarette’s not going to roast you into oblivion. If it did, I’m pretty sure they’d put it on the warning label.” 

“I guess the next step is the coroner’s office.”

“I guess so.” Dean turned the key in the ignition, and they drove off.

* * *  
Jinks knocked on the door to the house that matched the address Artie had found. A brunette woman with a messy bun answered the door. She had a haggard look on her face.

“Can I help you?”

“Are you Mrs. Berenson?”

“Yes. Who are you?”

“I’m Agent Jinks, and this is my partner, Agent Donovan. We’re with—“

“Look, I already talked to you people. 30 minutes ago.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Claudia said, stepping forward. “I know it’s hard to go over these details several times, but we have to make our own report.”

Mrs. Berenson sighed. “Fine. If it will keep this from happening again, I can go over it again. But tell them I don’t want to talk to anyone else,” she said, opening her door to let them in.

* * *

“So, Mrs. Berenson, you’re sure your husband didn’t come into contact with anything unusual before you went upstairs to bed? Have you visited any antique dealers recently?” Claudia asked. The burn on the La-Z-Boy was frightening. What was causing this to happen? Why was Jake Berenson victim number 3?

“Why would that matter?” 

“We’re just trying to be thorough. Looking for patterns and such,” Jinks explained.

“Well, he didn’t. Not that I know of. Look, Agents, I just went over this with Agents Montag and McClellan. They’re at the coroner’s office. Can’t you just read their report?” 

“Agents Montag and McClellan?” 

“Yeah. The Secret Service sent them. I don’t know why the Secret Service is investigating, but surely they don’t need me to talk to two different sets of agents. I can’t do this anymore. My husband just died in some kind of freak accident that I can’t explain. That apparently none of you can explain. I need to be alone.” She stood up to usher them out, and walked them to the front door.

“Mrs. Berenson, we understand, but—“

“I need you to leave. Leave and leave me alone.” With that, she opened the door and all but shoved Claudia and Jinks out.

“That was abrupt,” Claudia noted as they walked to the car. 

“I can’t blame her. But what I do want to know is, who are these other agents?”

“Maybe Artie sent Pete and Myka?”

“But why would he do that? We’re here already. And why would they use different names?”

“I guess we’ll find out when we see them at the coroner’s office.”

* * *

“Nasty leftovers, these are. But they’re just like the others,” Dr. Beatty said with a shrug.

Dean and Sam did a double take. “The others?”

“I thought that’s why you boys were investigating,” the doctor said as he opened the cold cabinet and pulled out a tray showing one set of feet. He pulled out two more trays nearby. One pair of feet still had Saucony crosstrainers on the feet. “Two more happened last night. And just like Berenson, the firemen determined there were traces of kerosene, but no source.”

“Names?” Sam asked as he inspected Jake Berenson’s feet.

“A Cassie Chambers and a Marco McCain. He’s the one with the shoes.”

“Have you got the police reports handy?”

“Of course, Agent McClellan. I’ll go get you a copy.” Dr. Beatty left them.

Dean grimaced as he poked the feet with the shoes. “This is a bad way to go.”

“What do you think it is?”

“No idea. I can’t think what kind of creature does this.”

“Creature, that’s your theory?” Claudia asked as she walked into the room. “Doesn’t look like an animal to me.”

“And you are?” Dean was immediately on his guard.

“Agent Donovan. And this is Agent Jinks. Now who exactly are you?”

“Oh, I’m Agent McClellan,” Sam said, not even looking up from the pair of feet he was inspecting. “He’s Agent Montag. Secret Service.”

“Funny, no one mentioned any other agents,” Jinks said. He, of course, knew they were lying, and gave Claudia the signal that something was up. 

“Is that so? Well, you know how things are,” Dean said with smile and a laugh. “It’s a nasty piece of work, this case. Want to get things solved as quickly as possible. We’re already here, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Can I see your badge?”

Sam looked up at Claudia. “Sure,” he smiled as he fished around in his pocket to find it. He held it up. “There you are.”

“Nice to meet you, Special Agent...Sampson? Not McClellan.” Claudia and Jinks both whipped out their Teslas. “You’re not with the Secret Service.”

“No, but those are…those aren’t real guns. I bet you don’t work for the Secret Service, either.” Dean held up his hands, silently wishing they hadn’t had to check their guns when they came in. Knifes and rock salt weren’t going to hold up against whatever the hell these two were packing. He glanced at Sam as if to say “we have got to get out.”

“They’re real enough. Who are you, and what have you done with the artifact?”

“The..what?” both Winchester boys asked simultaneously. 

Now it was Jinks and Claudia’s turn to glance at each other. Claudia frowned. “Look, we know there’s some kind of artifact killing these people. We need to find out what it is so we can bag it, tag it, and keep it from hurting anyone else.”

Sam looked at Jinks and Claudia like they were crazy. Dean just laughed. 

“Lady, you have lost it. Artifacts? What, you two are a his and hers Indiana Jones looking for the Legends of the Hidden Temple?”

Jinks tilted his head. “Hey, that was a good show. And no, we’re not. You see, unlike the two of you, we’re _actually_ government agents who are trying to solve this case.”

“Hey man, that’s all we’re trying to do. Maybe we could work together? My name’s Sam. He’s Dean. We’re brothers. We’ve been doing this kind of thing for years.“

Claudia narrowed her eyes, her Tesla still trained on Dean. “Maybe.” She looked at Jinks. “What do you think, Jinksy?”

Jinks lowered his Tesla, ever so slightly. “Why are you so interested? Why should we trust you?”

“Dude, it’s what we do. We’re hunters. We hunt down weird stuff, keep it from killing more people. At least, that’s what we do when we’re not distracted by pretty ladies and their puppy dogs,” Dean said with a pointed look at Sam, who immediately rolled his eyes in frustration. 

“Jeez, Dean, lay off of the Amelia jabs already. I’m here now. And they’re kind of pointing weird guns at us. Not the time.”

Jinks nodded. “Believe it or not, Claudia, they’re telling the truth.” 

“Alrighty then.”

Just then, Dr. Beatty walked in; Jinks and Claudia managed to conceal their Teslas before he noticed them. 

“Dr. Beatty!” Dean said with enthusiasm. “Let me introduce you to Agents...”

“Jinks and Donovan,” Jinks supplied. 

“Yes! They’re helping us on this case."

“Oh? Well, here are the reports. I made copies, but I’m afraid I only made enough for two of you.”

“That’s okay,” Claudia said, taking the reports from Dr. Beatty. “I’m sure we have enough to go around. We’re grown-ups. We can share. Right boys?” She handed the second copy of the reports to Jinks, and Dean had to smother the impulse to snatch it out of Jinks’s hand and run.

“Let someone know when you’re leaving so I can shut the room up again. I have to tend to some administrative matters.” With that, Dr. Beatty left. As soon as he was out of earshot, Claudia rounded on the others.

“We need to stop this from happening again. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” 

“We’ll cover more ground if we split up,” Sam pointed out.

“Good idea, Sam. Why don’t you go with me, and Jinksy can go with your brother? That way, we have your angle and our angle covered. If it’s an artifact, we deal with it. If it’s a creature, you two can take the lead.” 

“Fair enough. But first, we need to do some tests to make sure you are who say you are.” 

“What kind of tests?”

“Painless." Dean said, but then he remembered the bit with the knife. "Well, mostly painless.”

* * *

“I don’t get this,” Dean said, exasperated. “What do these people have in common? They’re all completely different. Nothing ties them together.”

“Except incredibly weird deaths by what looks like spontaneous human combustion,” Jinks pointed out with a slight grin.

“Duh,” Dean said. It wasn’t that he hated this Jinks guy, but he wasn’t comfortable with him, either. Something wasn’t right. The guy didn’t even react when they did the test with silver knife. That Agent Donovan had yelled just seeing them do it to him. 

“It’s a good point though. They haven’t been to any of the same places, they don’t work together, no physical commonalities, nothing. We must be missing something.” Jinks wondered how Claudia and Sam were doing. And he wondered how Dean got his hair to look like that. Dean wasn’t exactly his type, but then again, Jinks thought, I might be living on borrowed time. 

“Wait.”

“What?”

“Perhaps we’re going about this the wrong way. What if the thing they have in common is that they have nothing in common?” Dean asked. 

“What, you mean like they’ve been avoiding each other?” Jinks turned the idea over in his head.

“Maybe. I think we need to dig a little deeper.”

* * *

“So if this is an artifact, it could be…anything?” Sam asked. He was sitting at the hotel room table, laptop open, wikipedia search blank. 

“Pretty much. We’ve tracked down everything from Poe’s pen and handiwork to Marilyn Monroe’s hairbrush to a jar from the Donner Party that basically turned people in to zombies.”

“Good times,” Sam said with a nod.

“You betcha. The Poe stuff was a two-fer—we had to bag the pen and the writing before we could stop the effects.”

“Know of anything that leaves traces of kerosene behind, but no source?” 

“Nope. You know of any creatures that burn people to death for no obvious reason.?” Claudia asked. She laughed a little at the ridiculousness of the question. 

Sam looked away. Thoughts of his mother, and of Jess bubbled up, but he tried to tamp them down. “No,” he said quietly. “Nothing that doesn’t leave traces of sulfur behind.”

Claudia stared back at him. “You’re telling me there are creatures that burn random people to death? For no reason? Just that we’re not chasing those particular creatures this time?”

Sam nodded. 

“Wonderful," Claudia said. She fell back onto the bed with a flourish, but sat back up. "Now I get to be scared of evil artifacts AND supernatural creatures that like to set people on fire. At least ghosts aren’t real. Right?”

“Wrong.”

Claudia started to reply, and then stopped. Opened her mouth, then closed it. She got up and walked back to her laptop. Finally, she spoke, looking across the table at him. “Sam? Don’t tell me about any more monsters being real. Even if I ask. Got it?”

“Got it.” They looked back down at their computers.

“What about vampires?”

“Real,” Sam confirmed without even looking up.

“SAM! I told you not to tell me! Man, you really fail at tests, you know that? And we’re getting distracted. We need to figure this out. ASAP.”

Sam sighed and looked up from his computer. “This isn't working. Maybe we should just meet back up with Dean and Jeeves?”

“Jinks. Yeah, I’m stuck. I think we’ll brainstorm better with more people, and they probably have new info on the victims by now.”

* * *

The four of them met up in Sam and Dean’s hotel room. After sharing what little new info they had managed to glean, as well as Dean’s idea that they were going about this the wrong way, they all called back to headquarters to get some more input. Claudia and Jinks used the Farnsworth to contact Artie, while Sam and Dean called Garth to see if he had any info.

“Are you sure you can trust these two?” Artie asked. “They could be spies.”

“They check out, Artie,” Jinks assured him. 

“Fine.” Artie tuned out. 

“Jeez, he’s testy lately,” Claudia said as she closed the Farnsworth.

*

“Garth, we’re still flying blind. It’s not a successor to the yellow-eyed demon.” Dean did not like calling Garth for these sorts of things, but what could he do? Garth was the new Bobby, weird as that sounded. 

“Oh?” Garth’s voice pitched upward in that slow way that was only characteristic of Garth. “So no sulfur?”

“Not a trace. Just kerosene, and feet." Dean shuddered at the feet. Feet should not be all that remains of a person.

“Spontaneous human combustion, eh? Maybe it’s a cursed object. I assume you’ve already looked into commonalities.”

“Yeah, Garth, we have. That’s why we’re calling you.”

“Have you tried asking the deceased’s kinfolk if they know of anything the three might have in common? That might turn up something, seeing as you’ve only asked the first guy’s wife.”

“Thanks, Garth.” 

“No problem. And Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to go ahead and have someone drop off a hex box, just in case. But try to destroy whatever it is before you go putting it in there.”

Dean hung up the phone and looked Sam. “We’re idiots. I can’t believe we’re getting advice on hunting from this guy. And I can’t believe that we completely overlooked the other victims. We're falling down on the job, man.”

Sam could only shrug.

“To be fair, Deanbat, you two were distracted by the awesome that is Jinksy and me.”

"We are not calling me Deanbat."

* * *

Two interviews later, they had something, courtesy of Mr. McCain’s butler.

“Oh, Mr. McCain knew both of them,” Mr. Weatherby replied as soon as he heard the names. 

“Not that they associated with each other now, but he liked to reminisce about his school days back in the 60’s. They were part of a club in high school. If I recall correctly, it was Jake Berenson, Cassie Wilde—that’s her maiden name, she married the Chambers boy much later, and another girl. Rachel. I believe she was Jake’s cousin? At any rate, something happened to her that Mr. McCain never went into. I believe after that and graduation, they all lost contact with each other. As one used to do before Facebook came along.”

Claudia leaned in towards Jinks, who was leaning against a nearby bookshelf. “I cannot believe we almost missed this guy,” she muttered.

“Mr. Weatherby, you wouldn’t happen to have any old yearbooks, or pictures of Mr. McCain or the others, would you?”

“Oh, certainly. They should be right on this shelf,” he said, reaching behind Jinks. Mr. Weatherby flipped it open and quickly found the page. “There they are. The Writers Club.”

“Creative name,” Dean observed wryly. 

The picture Weatherby had turned to showed five teenagers laying in a circle, with a typewriter in the middle of the circle. The caption read: “The mysterious Writer’s Club and their mascot, Ray. This photo, taken before Rachel Berenson’s tragic death is dedicated to her memory. Left to right: Cassie Wilde, Jake Berenson, Marco McCain, Tobias Hawk, Rachel Berenson.”

“Wait, Tobias Hawk? You didn’t mention him,” Sam pointed out. 

“Mr. McCain never said much about him. I didn’t remember him. I will leave you to your work Agents, if you don’t mind my getting back to mine. I still have several members of Mr. McCain’s family to whom I need to relay the terrible news. You may stay here as long as you need if there are any other items in Mr. McCain’s library that might help you.” Mr. Weatherby left the four of them in the room.

“Guys, this has to be it. It has to be this Tobias Hawk person.”

“Or it’s the typewriter,” Claudia suggested.

“Or both,” Sam and Jinks said in unison. 

“Jinx!” Dean called out. The other three gave him a look. “What? Come on, Claudia, you know you’ve always wanted to do that. It’s that, or taking him to a pot farm for hijinks.”

Jinks groaned. “Yeah, I’ve never heard that one before. Claudia,” he said, hoping to change the subject back to something less ridiculous, “I think we need to use the Farnsworth again. Someone can check the database to see if there’s anything about a typewriter artifact.”

“And we’ll try to find this Tobias Hawk person,” said Sam. “Come on Dean, we can do that while they ask about the typewriter. We’ll meet up at the Mickey D’s in a half hour.” With that, Sam and Dean left, and Jinks pulled out his Farnsworth.

* * *

“They don’t like it when you ask for a Happy Meal with extra Happy,” Dean observed as he sat down with his and Sam’s food. “You might not want to eat that cheeseburger.”

“So we think the typewriter might be Ray Bradbury’s old typewriter. Probably the one he used to write Fahrenheit 451.”

Sam looked at his cheeseburger suspiciously, but decided he'd had worse. He unwrapped it. “That’s the story where the firemen are burning all the books. With kerosene," he said before taking a bite of his burger.

“Exactly. When someone types on it, if they mention real people, they…spontaneously combust. We should’ve known. Artie tracked it down decades ago, but it’s missing from the warehouse.”

“Missing? As in, you guys have a huge place that is chock-a-block full of deadly whatchamacallits, and things are going missing from it?” Dean asked in a voice that was a bit loud for the area they were in. 

“We’re working on it. It’s being contained,” Jinks said. 

“And that’s why you’re here,” Dean said. “So, this magic typewriter is on the loose, and someone’s using it on people?”

“Possibly. The question is, who?”

“It’s got to be the Tobias guy. We tracked him down,” Sam explained. His burger was fine. At least, he was mostly certain it was fine. “He lives on an old farm just outside of town. He’s been there forever.“

Dean nodded. “Sam did a little digging into the newspapers from back then, and they say he was suspected in Rachel’s death.”

“It was never proven,” Sam pointed out. “But he’s probably our killer.”

“I say it’s time we gave Tobias a little visit,” said Claudia. 

* * *

When they arrived at the farm, Dean knocked on the door. An elderly man opened the door. 

“Can I help you?”

“Are you Tobias Hawk?”

“Yes ma’am I am.” He looked back and forth at them, and they looked him over as well. For someone who was supposed to be in his mid-60’s he looked used up. His face was dry and withered; he reminded Jinks of a shrunken head, just slightly more alive.

“Do you have a typewriter?” Sam asked.

“Excuse me?” the man seemed bewildered.

“You know, the thing they invented before computers,” Dean explained impatiently. His hand was already under his jacket, gripping the demon knife. Just in case.

“Sir, I’m Agent Jinks, and this is Agent Donovan, Agent..McClellan, and Agent…Montag. We’re investigating a case that we think you might have some insight on.”

“Me? And it’s to do with my typewriter?”

“Possibly. Sir, I know it sounds a little out there, but if you could bear with us for just a few more minutes of your time.”

The old man nodded, and invited them in. The inside of the farmhouse was sparsely furnished, except for one thing—there were dozens of typewriters. All different kinds, from different eras, in an assortment of colors. There were Royals, IBMs, Remingons, Smith-Coronas, Hermes, even a Hansen Writing Ball. 

“As you can see, I have a decent collection. I’ve been working on my memoirs, but I only just got started a few days ago.”

Dean made a low whistle, followed by a disbelieving “Holy crap.”

And just as he said that, Claudia spotted what had to be the culprit. Over to the far end of the room, sitting on a desk in front of a window, rested an older typewriter. From where she stood, it was hard to tell if it was an Underwood or a Remington, but the label which read “Property of Powell Library, UCLA” gave it away instantly. 

“That’s Ray Bradbury’s typewriter,” she said, pointing directly at it. “That’s the one. Artie said he typed it on a typewriter he rented at UCLA.”

“Oh, are you interested in typewriters?” Tobias asked. “I’ve got an ebay bid on an IBM Selectric, too. It’s not Bradbury’s, but it’s just like his last typewriter.”

“What’s all that written on the side of it?” Jinks asked. Sam and Dean walked over to it.

“Oh man. That’s some bad hoodoo on that. No wonder people have been burning up all over town.”

“What?” the old man asked. He sounded confused. “People have died?”

“Your old writing club friends,” Sam said. “Marco McCain, Jake Berenson, Cassie Chambers.”

Tobias’s eyes widened. “No. No! It can’t be! It’s supposed to be safe now! I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, I swear!” He fell into a sad heap on a nearby couch. “I can’t believe I did it again. I didn’t mean to! It was supposed to fix what I did to Rachel!”

“Jinks?” Claudia asked. 

“He’s telling the truth. Or at least he thinks he is,” Jinks confirmed.

“I don’t care what he’s saying. We need to deactivate that sucker, pronto. And whatever you do, don’t touch it.”

“Here,” Jinks said, tossing Dean and Sam each a pair of purple gloves. “This ought to protect you from the artifact.” They grabbed the typewriter and carried it outside. Claudia and Jinks followed them out.

“Dude, this is more than an artifact. It’s amped up with curses. We can’t just ship it back to your warehouse. If it gets out again, and into the hands of someone who doesn’t even know it has a history, people are going to die left and right. Including whoever uses it. I doubt that guy’s got more than a few days left,” Dean insisted. 

“What do you want to do with it?”

“The only thing you can do with something this bad. We’ll have to torch it until it melts into a useless heap, and put any remains into a hex box to contain any hoodoo left. That we could ship back to you.”

“Artie won’t like it,” Claudia said.

“It’s the best solution,” Jinks countered. “They have a point. Right now, the warehouse just isn’t as safe as it should be.”

“You can help us torch it, if that makes you feel any better,” offered Sam. “And take what’s left back with you.”  


Claudia pondered Sam’s suggestion. “Gentlemen, I think we have a solution. Also, I would like to point out something."  


"What?"  


"Jinksy and I were right. It _was_ an artifact. Not a creature. You lose! Warehouse 1, Hunters 0! But, uh, don't stop hunting. I'm putting you on my speed dial. You know. In case of vampires."  


Sam and Dean smiled. "You got it."


End file.
